


To Dream

by Trismegistus (Lebateleur)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst and Feels, Epilogue, Gen, Loki Needs a Hug, Loki has feels and lies about it, Missing Scene, Post-Thor: The Dark World, Thor Is a Good Bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 05:38:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12474672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lebateleur/pseuds/Trismegistus
Summary: One night when Loki cannot sleep, he finds sympathy in an unlikely place.Takes place at an indeterminate point in time following the events of Thor: The Dark World.





	To Dream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mimm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mimm/gifts).



To rule was...not what he had anticipated. So much drudgery. How had the Allfather borne it through all those centuries? _He_ at least had quickly learned to see only to those matters that interested him, and to delegate the others. After all, he had at his disposal an army of scraping advisors grateful to be set to even the most menial of tasks, should he only command it. Therefore, why should he not?

Why the old one-eyed fool had insisted on taking such an active hand in everything, he would never understand.

For instance, this matter with which his advisors had seen fit to burden him tonight: a trivial affair involving the taxation of some minor village in the outer reaches of the realm. He shifted upon the throne, and the council's bickering quieted. All eyes were on him, where all eyes belonged, and yet somehow the attention only grated.

“My lord?” the man to his left attempted.

He shut his eyes. “Enough. Let us move to the next matter.”

“But my lord, the coffers—”

“Have you fallen deaf, councilor?” he asked mildly, and the room stilled once more. To try the Allfather's patience was never wise. How much less so now, after the death of one son and the self-imposed exile on Midgard of the other found him ever more weary and quick to anger.

“These peasants and their squabbles try my patience; take care you do not do likewise.” He rose. “Find some solution that satisfies them all, or if you aren't clever enough to manage that, raze it to the ground.” Seizing Gungnir, he stalked from the room before their shock could bleed into dismayed objections to this latest order. 

But what, really, had they wanted? That he would deign to do their thinking for them? A king's duty was to rule, not lower himself to petty administrative tasks. That they would even dare to hope it otherwise...

No matter. He would return to his chambers, and none would dare disturb him there. Courtiers and servants alike melted away before him as he strode down the halls. The doors opened to admit him, and then closed behind him. Once he stood within, he let the illusion fall from his shoulders like an old cloak, threadbare and unneeded. Now it was Loki who stood among the silken hangings and ornately carved pillars curving to the darkness of the ceiling high above. He shut his eyes and exhaled, long and slow.

Once, it had been enough to stand within the Allfather's chambers and know himself the ruler of Asgard, a rightful and deserving king come at last into his throne. But no longer. Now the satisfaction of his triumph, of having thoroughly outwitted them all, had paled, and he knew not what he might do to do gain it back. 

He knew he would find no sleep tonight. And so he wandered. It was easy enough to pass unseen from Odin's rooms into Asgard's halls, and easier still to pass along those corridors and out of the realm itself, for Heimdall's gaze was elsewhere, and though Loki did not lie dead on the cold plains of Svartalfheim, there were none in Asgard who knew it. No one looked for him in the shadows, or in Asgard's hidden places. No one lowered their voices for fear he might be concealed nearby, eager to overhear their secrets. No one thought of him at all.

He let his feet take him where they would. And though they bore him to Midgard, they did so unbidden. It was night when he came to stand outside the house of Darryl, son of Jacob. The door was secured by lock and by alarm, but this posed no challenge. He had learned to steal through wards far more cleverly laid and dangerous as a child. He entered, and moved through the house a shadow, and stole into the bedchamber in which Thor lay.

Its human dimensions did not suit him. Loki's face hardened. “What a pity, brother,” he said softly, “Here you are, born to be a king, and yet you manage to sleep so peacefully in—” He paused, for it was clear that Thor's sleep was not peaceful. 

Thor sprawled atop the coverlets, the sheets tangled at his feet, the pillows cast to the floor. Though he made no sound, his breath caught in his throat: a gasp of shock, or a sob. Loki crossed the room to stand before him.

“What's this? Is life upon Midgard not everything you thought it would be? What ill dream so troubles you tonight? Do you yearn for your companions, half a world away, to cease their fighting? Or for that _woman_..?” His stomach twisted with an emotion he refused, once again, to acknowledge. 

He raised a hand, pale in the darkness, and touched thin fingers to Thor's face. “No matter what it is, brother, if I wished it, I could make your dream a thousand times worse, with nothing more than a touch. But first I would know, what you see that makes you so—”

At first he thought Thor meant to mock him. But no. Thor lacked the guile. And, Loki thought as the angry racing of his heart steadied, Thor had never learned how to manipulate his dreams, much less the thoughts of another. Mother had only ever taught those magics to Loki.

Yet it swam through Thor's dreams, a constant image among the typical confused jumble of dream pictures: his face, pale, bloodless lips chattering. His head cradled in Thor's hands as he whispered, _I'm sorry. I'm sorry._ In the dream, Thor wanted to cry out, the urge so strong Loki's own throat constricted. Thor _had_ cried out, on the plain in Svartalfheim. But trapped now in the paralysis of dreaming, Thor could make no sound at all.

Loki's hands were shaking, and he fought to still them. “You're a fool,” he whispered. “A _fool.”_ He spat the words. “After all this time, how can you still not know what matters?

“I pity you, brother,” he said, and his voice shook too. “I pity you, and that is why I am going to do this.” He swallowed. “It's more than you deserve.” He took Thor's face in his hands and pressed his forehead to Thor's. Thor's cheeks, unshaven, were rough against his palms.

Thor did not wake. But his breathing grew even. The image of Loki's ashen face faded, and was replaced by one of Loki standing silent beside Thor in the garden of the house of Darryl, son of Jacob, in Midgard, a different dream of a thing that had never happened, and that never would. Loki let his fingers rest a moment longer, and then was gone. When at last Thor woke, he did not remember that he had dreamed at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Dear Mimm--Happy Trick or Treat! Thanks for the opportunity to write these characters. I also love a redeemed Loki, but it's hard going to get him there when the parties involved are so willfully oblivious. That said, I hope you find a bit of it here.


End file.
